


Overload

by everythingsace



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: And he gets real bad sensory overload, Angst, Anxiety Attacks, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I guess???, Light Angst, Michael Mell has anxiety, Michael-centric, Rich Goranski Is a Good Bro, Sensory Overload, anyways i love michael mell, bc I am projecting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-07
Updated: 2017-11-07
Packaged: 2019-01-30 13:21:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12654357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everythingsace/pseuds/everythingsace
Summary: There’s always the clang, clang, clang. Why is there always a fucking clang, clang, clang? It should be a fucking knock or a tap, so why is it a goddamn clang?(Michael Mell deals with sensory overload.)





	Overload

There’s always the clang, clang, clang. Why is there _always_ a fucking clang, clang, clang? It should be a fucking knock or a tap, so why is it a goddamn clang?

He knows the answer and he knows he should see his therapist but fucking money sucks and he can’t and--

“Jake, please, _please_ stop tapping your pencil,” Michael says, barely stopping himself from snapping his own.

The guy in question takes one look at Michael, and his hand immediately freezes. He cracks a grin, but Michael can see confusion under the cool facade. “Oh, sorry, man! Didn’t even realize I was doing it.”

Jake sets the pencil aside. Michael notices the brunet begin to bounce his leg instead, and he immediately feels bad. Fuck, Jake can’t help but fidget, Michael knows that (or at least is pretty sure, it’s not like _he_ talks to Jake much). He shouldn’t fucking snap at him for something he can’t control; he knows that better than anyone so what the fuck is he doing telling him--

Michael clenches his fist suddenly, mentally telling his head to just shut the fuck up. He has just a few minutes until lunch, and then he can go seclude himself and freak the fuck out on his own.

He also wants to tell the entire room to shut up-- Jesus Christ, why does Madeline laugh _so loud?_

He knows his entire body is tense and trying to block out all the sound is the exact opposite of what he should be doing, but he can’t get his natural reactions to stop… reacting.

Mr. Halstead walks by then, saying something to the class, and he’s probably talking at a normal volume but to Michael, it’s just-- _loud,_ and aw, shit, now his mechanical pencil is cracked.

Luckily, no one seems to notice, but all Michael really wants to do right now is take a hit and just… chill out. Let everything just fucking stop for a minute.

His nails are kind of digging into his desk when the bell finally rings. Immediately, his headphones are on and he’s _out_. He flips up his hood, too, just for that little extra comfort.  He’s about to duck into the bathroom when he feels a hand on his shoulder.

He propels forward with a cringe, a frustrated “eugh” escaping from his mouth. He skids to a stop, though, because running away from someone who’s trying to get your attention is generally considered impolite.

He turns, his hands curling around the inside of his pockets tightly. His fingers twitch as he sees Jake, who mouths-- well, probably says-- “You okay?”

Michael just lifts three fingers and presses his index and thumb together in response, his lips pursed, before darting away and escaping.

As soon as he steps inside, he quickly fumbles into a stall before letting out a shaky sigh while leaning against the door. He breathes slowly, in for six seconds, out for six seconds.

“Uh… Michael?”

Michael jerks away from the door, barely holding back a curse. He stays silent, shutting his tightly, just silently willing for the person to go away.

“Micah-moo, I literally saw you go in there.”

Well, now he knows it’s Rich.

“Are you good? You were looking kinda freaked out,” Rich says

Michael bites his lip to quiet his quick breathing.

There’s a long pause. After long enough, Michael lets out a sigh of relief. He’s given up, thank--

“Well, you look like shit.”

“Jesus fuck!” Michael yelps, slamming back into the stall door. He looks up, where Rich is fucking _climbing_ over the stall wall. “What the fuck?” he shouts.

“You weren’t replying! I was worried!” Rich defends, raising a hand in surrender, before his eyes widen and he almost falls. He grips back onto the wall and balances himself, though. “You good?”

“Yes. Please go away,” Michael says, his hands clenched tightly into fists.

“Dude, you’re so not good,” Rich says,  shaking his head.

“Then why the fuck would you ask?” Michael argues, before roughly shoving his palms into his eyes. God, _chilloutchilloutchillout._

“Uh, how can I help? Can I help? Do you need like… meds or something? I’ve got some Xanax,” Rich says, going to reach into his pocket. Except he’s clearly not thinking, because then Michael can’t see him anymore.

He hears a groan.

He sighs. “Are you okay?” he asks, his voice tired and dry.

“Oh, gross, there’s piss on the floor.”

 That startles a laugh from Michael. He sees Rich’s hands scramble on the disgusting floor before disappearing as he gets to his feet.

A few seconds later, Michael both hears and feels Rich knock on the door behind him. Michael sighs and steps away, unlocking the door and gently pulling it open.

“Holy shit, dude,” Rich says, most likely because Michael still looks like shit, and Michael rolls his eyes.

“Thanks. Bye.” Michael starts to shut the door again, but Rich stops it with his hand.

Rich groans. “C’mon, dude. Seriously, you want a Xanax? I could get you some weed, probably. I think. I don’t know where I can get weed. Is there just like, a dude I can go up to? Or person, people of all genders I’m sure have access to weed, but like, how do I do that? Just ask if I can have some weed? Or do I need a code word? ‘Hey, do you have a pencil?’ Except what if I end up going to the wrong person, and someone just actually hands me a pencil. I don’t kno-- holy shit, I’m turning into Christine,” he says, his hands on his face.

Michael stares at him. “I’m not making you buy me weed. And I don’t need anything, I just… need to chill out.” Michael raises his hands, which are half covered by his sleeves, and grips his hair. He tugs a bit too hard. “I just need to _chill. Out_.”

“Right, ‘cause that’ll help,” Rich says, prying Michael’s hands away from his head. “What is it, though?” he asks, frowning. “Panic attack? Did someone say something to you? I’ll fucking fight them; I totally will. Was it Dustin? Dustin’s a douche, he makes fun of my sca-- uh, that’s not the point, what’s going on?”

“Nothing it’s fine. Please just leave me alone,” Michael says, before lifting his head and frowning. “Wait, Dustin makes fun of your burns?”

“Not the point!” Rich says. “Point is, _you’re_ not doing good.”

“But if Dustin is shitting on y--”

“Fine, if you aren’t saying anything, I’ll get someone who _can_ help.”

And then he’s gone. And then Michael’s mind is racing.

Someone who can get help? Who does he mean? Not a teacher, half the teachers here are fucking shit, not-- wait. _Shit._

“No, no, no,” Michael mutters, pulling his phone from his pocket. He frantically swipes across the screen and shoots Rich a text, _‘No plese dont tell je4emy,’_ his breathing picking up, the door slamming shut as he falls against it. He flinches at the noise, cringing away from it. He also cringes when he hears someone shout in the hallway, then again as he hears the air conditioner above him kick on, and then _again_ when he hears another voice in the hall.

His hands twitch when he receives a series of texts from Rich, and he quickly reads it and he mutters a quiet, “ _Shit, shit, shit_.”

_‘What why?? I already did??’_

_‘Shit I’m sorry man.’_

_‘He’s already on his way.’_

As he grips his hair, he shakily types back with one hand: _‘I dint want hijm ti worry.’_

 _‘Oh. Bro if ur allowed to worry about us, we’re allowed to be worried about you,’_ Rich replies. Michael groans, because technically that logic should be true, but it just-- it’s _not,_ and he doesn’t want them to bother with his shit, and he just--

“Michael?”

Michael’s hand fumbles, and his phone falls onto the floor, the noise deafening in the quiet bathroom.

Within seconds, Jeremy’s right behind Michael, only a thin door between them. “Micah, what’s wrong? Rich and Jake said you were freaking out.”

Michael lets out a shaky sigh. “Just… s’just…” he mutters breathlessly, gesticulating despite Jeremy not being able to see him.

“Sensory overload?” Jeremy asks, making sure to keep his voice quiet.

“Yeah.”

“Can I come in?”

Michael sucks in a deep breath and steps away from the door hesitantly. “Okay,” he says.

The door swings open, and Jeremy peeks his head inside. Upon seeing Michael’s face, his own falls. “Aw, Michael,” he says, carefully stepping inside and shutting the door behind him. He purses his lips then asks, “Is it a bad time to touch?”

Michael opens his mouth, only to say nothing. He doesn’t know. This is a bad one, they’ve been worse for a while, but he never really knows with _touch,_ usually it’s just sound, so… “I don’t know?” he says.

“Okay. I’m gonna touch your shoulder first, and you tell me if it’s bad, yeah?” he says.

Michael nods. “‘Kay.”

Jeremy reaches forward, but as soon as Michael feels his hand on his shoulder, he cringes away. He winces. “Shit, sorry. M’sorry.”

“Hey, no, it’s fine,” Jeremy says, frowning, putting his hands in his pockets, something Michael knew he did to stop himself from reaching forward, and that makes him feel _worse._

“Stop that,” Jeremy adds, giving Michael a _look._ “I can hear you overthinking. It’s _fine.”_

“But you’re just trying to h--”

“Yes, and if touching doesn’t help, I’ll try something else,” Jeremy says, giving Michael a glare when he tries to argue again.

“Now,” Jeremy says. “Sit down.” He seems to remember where they are. “Uh, or lean against the wall.”

Michael sighs, but he  does what he says.

Noting his unsteady breathing, Jeremy says, “Okay, first, remember to breathe. In for six, out for six, yeah? One, two, three, four, five, six… One, two three, four, five, six…” This goes on for a minute before Michael’s finally breathing steadily.

“Great, okay, now remember what that app told you to do? Let yourself feel everything. Feel the wall against your back and your butt, the floor beneath your feet, how it’s heavier on your heels… that shoelace tucked in your shoe, how can you stand that? Sorry, unrelated,” Jeremy says, shaking his head. Michael lets out a chuckle, closing his eyes and letting himself feel. His headphones around his neck. His binder’s straps pressing on his shoulders, but not in a way they’re too tight. His glasses on his nose. Some sleep in the corners of his eyes. His sleeves tickling his palms. His knees touching. His right ankle itching a little. His hoodie touching the sides of his neck.

He lets out a shaky sigh, and he nods. (He can feel his chest moving, his back moving against the wall.)

“Okay, now the big one. Let yourself _hear_ everything. Tell me what you hear.”

Michael nods, pushing out a breath for six seconds before letting himself focus on everything. “Okay,” he says, his voice unsteady. “Um, I hear-- I hear you, I hear your breathing. I hear mine, it’s really loud. I hear my voice. I hear lockers opening and closing in the hall. I hear people talking. Uh. Um.”

He begins to hear a very quiet tapping begin. “I hear you-- uh, you’re tapping against the wall, yeah?” Jeremy hums and Michael continues: “Um, the toilets are doing that weird hissing thing they always do. I hear the air conditioning. I hear music still playing from my headphones, which is bad because that’s just draining my battery.” Both he and Jeremy let out a hesitant and quiet laugh.

“Yeah, that’s good. You doing better?” Jeremy asks, and Michael finds that he does. It’s still not _good,_ he still feels pretty on edge, but he doesn’t feel desperate to cut his ears off like some kind of van Gogh wannabe. He nods, opening his eyes but still forcing himself to listen, except now he just focuses on Jeremy. His breathing. His hand still tapping on the wall. His other hand  fiddling with his jean pockets, which makes a tiny scratching noise.

“Thanks, Jer,” he says, letting his shoulders finally relax a bit. He shuffles towards the boy before gently dropping his head onto his shoulder. “You’re good.”

Jeremy lets out another breathy laugh, wrapping an arm around Michael now that he’s okay. “Thanks. You’re pretty good, too.”

They stay there for a few minutes, just Michael’s forehead resting against Jeremy, Jeremy with his arm wrapped around Michael’s waist, his thumb rubbing gently against his shirt, and music playing quietly from Michael’s headphones.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was basically just me projecting onto one of my favorite characters but wha te ver, anyway  
> I hope you enjoyed my first BMC fic! I had fun and I love every character even though they all have lots of issues!! Have a good day!! 
> 
> Comments + kudos are appreciated!  
> (my tumblrs are phancy-schmancy (random shit (including bmc)) and tonystarkreactor (marvel) if you wanna check those out)


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